


Him & I

by RebelDrFerguson



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Brufred, Dark Thoughts, Descriptions of sex, M/M, One-Shot, Smutty, added picture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 21:30:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12944349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelDrFerguson/pseuds/RebelDrFerguson
Summary: The Bat has a lover.Bruce Wayne has a heart.But unlike the press believe they both have the same man in the sheets late at night.





	Him & I

**Author's Note:**

> Song: Him & I - G Eazy (This just makes me think of Brufred)
> 
> Thanks to Waccawheels yet again for the AMAZING Brufred art that partly inspired this.

The Bat had a death wish.

 

The Man had a heart.

 

The Bat was fueled by rage.

 

The Man was fueled by hope.

 

The Bat bled justice and vengeance.

 

The Man bled loyalty and care.

  
  


Ever since The Bat had come to life, Bruce had been playing a very difficult game of chess against the city of Gotham and himself. 

 

At times he believed himself to be out of his mind risking his neck to protect people that valued his money more than his name. 

 

But when a man crossed his heart and swore to die in his name for his life he swore himself into a life to protect the one thing that kept him alive. 

 

From overshined oxfords, silver platters and cufflinks to lonely nights, the smell of woodsmoke and a lakeside view, he was there, in the shadows of every room. 

 

Bruce told himself he didn’t need a hand to hold. He told himself he didn’t need anything to keep him satisfied but the sound bones breaking.

 

He was swimming in money, swimming in liquor, swarm by women and swarmed by media, the playboy of Gotham and the star on the front of magazines the city people brought late at night. 

 

They pictured open bottles, sweat-soaked sheets, expensive food and the constant stream of flirtatious chat lines. 

 

If only they truly knew what kept The Bat so awake at night. 

 

They had half the story and Bruce was thankful for the human imagination. 

 

In the day he was the richest businessman in the state and the orphaned child raised by a highly respected British soldier turned butler.

 

At night he was the creature that thrived in the dark and the reason people spoke in whispers of illegal money and weapons. 

 

But by the crack of dawn for just one moment, for just a few hours he was someone’s lover. For just a fleeting flutter of hands and the shedding of kevlar he was wanted, he was craved, cared for and well deserved. 

 

By the time the sun turned the night into day he was back to being cold, back to feeling distant and over. He was back to longing stares and aching loins. Back to self-deprecation and sullen tones. Touched by hands that he truly didn't deserve to still have at his side. 

 

He found himself daydreaming of the lips that had littered his skin with the sweetest of kisses, dreamt of the touch that made him shudder, felt him shake, dreamt of the warm brown eyes that admire the scars of battle, calculated so silently and burnt with the fires their heart. 

 

The rush of silk and smooth of cotton, the scrape of denim and brush of wool, made skin feel like heaven in the dark. 

 

Cold metal made the sweat feel like boiling water dripping down his sides as he tried to focus on the feeling of him, the feeling of being so full with the length of him deep inside. 

 

There was a face to a name, but different names for one face. Touch felt different in the light than the dark and Bruce craved the stars just for the thrill of it. 

 

With every punch came direction, with every command he felt the force. 

 

Standing on buildings and watching over his kingdom he smiled into the city lights knowing he was the night, he had control of the fate for a blackened soul and had the choice of who the reaper could take. 

 

But for all the strength, for all muscle, for all the tactic and power he dealt he could be nothing without the voice in his head. 

 

The rumble and growl, the blood and sweat was nothing compared to the burr and snark, to the electricity that would flood through his veins when the beast's owner demanded his obedience. 

He’d be long dead without that net. He’d have died in that alleyway, Bruce knew it to be true, he’d have nothing and no one if those hands that held him that blood soaked night had never come running from the manor. 

 

If they had never stayed, would Bruce Wayne have even known who to be?

 

If they had never held so tight, shielded him at the start of this fight, would Bruce have known where he’d be?

 

If they didn't love him so viciously so late at night if they didn’t stitch and stroke, if they didn’t wash and wait, if they didn't make him scream and beg, would he ever want to go home? 

 

The answer is no. 

 

Bruce swore to die with him. 

 

He had sworn to die for Bruce. 

 

The heated and passionate battles in those sheets had taken away the pain, placed Bruce back in his mind every morning gave him breathing space to feel himself again. 

 

The Bat could grow hungry with all the bloodlust. The Bat would go hungry at times because The Man was more concerned with the skin beneath when one too many stitches or layers of bandage restricted his wings. 

 

But The Bat remained addicted to the sleepless nights, to the sight of the unmanned plane, to the car that drove the streets with no man behind the wheel at times. 

 

He remained addicted to the sound of screams to the sound of gunfire and the silent shadow of The Man behind. 

 

The bang of the car door always shook The Bat as it echoed in the cavern made him hide, made him shiver in anticipation as the sound of heels stride across metal grating towards the dropped cowl with words whispered into the dark at the sight when hands found his body.

 

 

“Brilliant” 

 

Belt.

 

Gauntlets.

 

Cape.

 

Chest plate.

 

They drove each other mad. The Bat ached for The Man and The Man ached for the skin beneath the kevlar, for the heart beat against his ear. 

 

The Bat would break down until Bruce Wayne stood naked as the day he was born, in the arms of The Man that loved him so dearly he knew no woman could ever compare. 

 

Not even Amazonian goddesses had got as far.

 

Breathless kisses, gentle fingertips against scars and fresh wounds. The Bat would hiss and Bruce would whimper under the touch leaning for those lips, tugging at the shirt, at the belt, groaning as a roughen palm wrapped around his cock, listening to the soothing purr in his ear as he gave into the hands that dealt him the pain of love. 

 

He’d lean down on the table, begging and unable to wait much longer for the feeling, the rush of adrenaline burning off in his veins he craved the endorphins, the pleasure to wash away the memories of another dark night. 

 

He’d feel the length, the heat, the hardness and moan out loud, reaching back for those hands, enlacing fingers as The Man slid himself deeper groaning with want as he thrust. The Bat would never tell of the way he surrendered, but Bruce would cry, Bruce would spill, Bruce would chant The Man’s name like prayer in the shadows, into the wood of the table until he was hoarse and the final spark disconnected his mouth from his brain leaving him a writhing mess in the hands of The Man that ruled his mind. 

 

He’d focus on the skin, the sweat, the moans and sensation of The Man’s cock deep inside his ass, the burning rush of semen when his balls burst and fill Bruce to the brim, leaving him empty and dripping. Leaving him stated and tired, to stumble upstairs into fresh sheets and equally exhausted arms.

 

The Bat would find himself trapped at times, stuck and helpless left to ask for help of The Man that would rescue him every time. 

 

To sink into a leather seat of a remote driven vehicle feeling the sting of battle wearing off was and would always be the most comforting. 

 

To be rude and snap, to be brooding and self-hating as food was placed in front of him, as coffee arrived on his desk, as paperwork was finished without his hand would never be justified. 

 

To be held tight against a chest that caged a solid beating heart when he threw himself from rafters, off ledges and into bullet riddled wars could never be deserved. 

 

By day it was Bruce Wayne and his faithful butler Alfred Pennyworth.

 

As he stands watching over the city he swore to protect he finds a truth even The Bat could never speak and The Man would always remind.

 

By night it was The Bat and The Man. 

 

A game played by two due to the damaged just two lives left behind. 

 

Because in truth, Bruce could never lie.

 

In the end, it wasn’t The Batman who ruled Gotham City, it was Him & I.

**Author's Note:**

> More one shots coming:
> 
> Dripping - Brufred (Involves Shower Voyeurism)  
> Honey - Brufred (Involves Alfred completing a honeypot mission)


End file.
